


Century Days

by tiniestdormouse



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: D/s elements, Dominance, F/M, Frotting, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Nightraycest - Freeform, Obsession, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Post-Series, Sibling Incest, Stalking, Stripping, Submission, cheating (kinda), handjobs, naughty fantasies, past one-sided Ozbert, reluctance, sadist!Ada/ masochist!Vincent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 19:52:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5553047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniestdormouse/pseuds/tiniestdormouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Time, as the saying went, changes people, but over the years, Gilbert began to question this aphorism. Instead, with each passing year, each turning decade, he slowly came to believe that time distills. People become the essentials of who they always were since the beginning."</p>
<p>Post-series erotica (aka feelings & plot + porn) about the changing relationships between Gilbert, Vincent, and Ada as they mature.  Written for the PH Secret Santa 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [willfulabyss](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=willfulabyss).



> For the PH Secret Santa, three prompts were requested and I did all of 'em! This chapter features prompt 2: “Something including the following line or any variant thereof that carries the same meaning: ‘Why did you do this to me?’”

Time, as the saying went, changes people, but over the years, Gilbert began to question this aphorism. Instead, with each passing year, each turning decade, he slowly came to believe that time distills. People become the essentials of who they always were since the beginning.

Gilbert realized this the first time he made Miss Ada cry.

Dappled shade fell upon the cafe table and at first, Gil wished he could shrink away further into those shadows rather than see her kittenish face crumple before him.

He leaned back into the cushioned seat, but Ada reached out and grasped his hand. The tears rimmed her green clear eyes like droplets of condensation on a wine bottle’s edge.

“Tell me,” she whispered. “How?”

Gilbert had planned an eloquent speech and practiced for hours beforehand, but the words caught in his throat. “Suddenly,” he managed. “Everything… was breaking. The Core’s world cracked the walls of the castle and… there was this nothingness beyond them. The floor… it broke, and he was, I couldn’t-”

“I’m being selfish.” ‘Her grip tightened. “I’m sorry. This must be too painful…”

“But he saved us,” Gilbert added. Vincent would’ve scoffed at that line. He didn’t want Ada to think of him as a hero. “Say I died simply,” his younger brother said the night before. “She shouldn’t pine for me or judge any person against what little fancy we had. Lady Ada deserves to move on, and quickly.” Vincent had grown more assertive in his self-abasement in the weeks after the final battle, drawing from a well of darkness Gilbert never realized his brother had possessed.

So instead of saying what Vince wanted, Gilbert goes on, “My brother was a hero, Ada. And he loved you. Very much.”

Her hand dropped. Her shoulders shuddered. After a few moments of indecision, Gilbert brushed his gloved hand upon her crown, stroking her golden hair that fell in front of her face. A shade richer than his younger brother’s, Gilbert noted as he watched the strands slip between his fingers. Minutes passed.

“He wouldn’t want to see you grieve.”

An almost imperceptible nod. She raised her head and removed a silk handkerchief from her reticule.  Dabbing at her eyes, she then nodded. “Of course. Vincent was truly a good man.”

Gilbert bit his lower lip at that remark and averted his eyes. His gaze settled upon his worn black hat sitting on the table. A gift from dear Miss Ada years ago, placed in his hands a year after he had left the service of the Vessalius household. Young Gilbert had protested then, citing the fact that it wasn’t Boxing Day so Ada had no purpose in giving someone like him a gift (“But we are equals,” she had replied, beaming, “And we are friends. People who are both to each other can certainly offer gifts whenever they want.”)

He traced his fingers along the wide felt brim, staring at the fraying hatband and trying to muster up the coldness needed for what he should be saying. What Vincent instructed. “Please forget him,” he said, putting on his hat as he rose from his chair. “That would be for the best.”

Ada said nothing to his retreating back, and a twist in Gilbert’s stomach reprimanded him in her stead. He exhaled, slowly, once he climbed into the royal carriage. The driver headed toward the king’s residence where the Baskerville household lodged until their estate could be rebuilt. Slumping into the seat’s boxsprings, Gil let the nervous wash slowly seep out of him as his eyes closed.

What he thought was relief gave away to a discomforting realization. Innocent Ada Vessalius, his childhood friend, who he cared for like second family and who loved his brother sincerely, did not deserve to be deceived. But Gilbert done it without question, because that was what Vincent wanted.

It was for her sake, both her and Vincent’s, Gil rationalized. Vincent didn’t want to drag down Ada’s mortal life with his Baskerville-bestowed longevity. Ada and everyone in her generation, and her children’s generation, would be long in their graves while the two brothers remained young men in Glen’s service.

This thought consoled him until he arrived at his suite in the palace, and saw a familiar shade of blond hair hanging off the armrest of his parlor room’s chaise-lounge.

Gilbert shut the doors behind him and turned the key in the lock.

“Hello brother,” came the soft voice from the middle of the room.

He wasn’t too surprised to see Vincent waiting for him. Most of the Baskervilles shared living space on the palace grounds, especially since more Baskerville survivors came out of hiding after the Restoration. That name marked the actual event: the restoration of the world from near collapse after the Abyss “unexpectedly” become unstable (the public will never know the truth). It also served as a political policy that Duchess Sheryl Rainsworth spearheaded, which restored the Baskerville House and disbanded the four other Great Dukedoms. Titles were removed, lands redistributed, wild Chains defeated, and a new order between the people, the nobles, and the Baskervilles was forged.

Eventually, the Baskervilles will get their own barracks, manor, and estate lands from where they can monitor the progress of the Abyss and report directly to the monarch. In the meantime, the leaders of the guard -- Lottie and Dug -- had private suites in the palace, as did Leo, the new Glen and head of the Baskervilles. Lily didn’t want to be separated from Lottie, so technically, the young girl resided with the commanding officer.

Vincent had requested that he and Gilbert room in the furthest wing of the palace, near the servants’ quarters. Comfort in tradition, Gil had supposed, since that was the same area they inhabited at the Nightray manor. Just a few steps away from the streets where they came from. But, this location held an aspect Gilbert also picked up on: the easiest escape out of the palace, and the quickest access to the backways that the help took everyday.

His little brother always had his ulterior motives.

Gilbert also noted that his suite and Vincent’s shared a private door between each other.

“Evening, Vince.” Gilbert shrugged off his outerwear and took his seat across from where his younger brother sprawled. Even as before he stepped into Vincent’s view, Gilbert felt Vincent’s tension drip across his skin, which betrayed his carefree tones.

“Have a nice chat?” He was lying on his side, one arm lying draped across his hip; his other hung down off the seat, his fingers nearly touching the floor. Despite the laxity of his position, Vincent stared over at Gilbert. In the dim light, his eyes shone like a predator’s in wait.

“Don’t be flippant,” Gilbert sighed, recalling Ada’s face and then frowned. “You hurt her, you know.”

“She hurt herself.” Vincent straightened up, shaking his head a bit to get his locks in order. “Lady Ada never had to do anything. She got dragged into this mess, after all.”

Refusing responsibility, his brother was, in a way that made Ada the victim of her own feelings. His hand clenched. She didn’t deserve this. She forgave Vince in that nightmare world. She saw him as a child, framed as the instigator of the Tragedy over a century ago. She saw him unleash Demios, the demon Chain he made a deal with so he and Gilbert could escape through time to the present day. Though she knew so little, Ada witnessed dreadful secrets that even Gilbert was blind to for most of his life: the ichor clinging to Vincent’s soul which he refused to wash away.

A sudden thought struck him. Vincent was a man of masks, and Ada had broken them all during the final battle. She forgave him -- a feat that Vincent didn’t even allow Gilbert to do -- and he was pushing her away in self-punishment.  No, Gilbert wasn’t going to let those walls go up again.

His frown turned into a grimace. “This isn’t her fault.”

“Are you blaming me?” His eyelids lowered.

“Stop it,” Gilbert snapped. He got up and leaned over Vincent. “You’re not playing me for a fool again.”

“What?”

Gilbert reached down and pulled his brother up by his left shoulder using his right -- and remaining -- hand. He knelt, his golden eyes staring in Vincent’s contrasting ones. One eye the color they shared, the other the color that had been the bane of their lives.  “I know how much I’m a moron around you,” he said. “But I’m not an idiot about this, and I won’t let you pretend to be one either. She loves you. You have no right to deny yourself anymore.”

Vincent blinked, as a sleepy cat being roused from his afternoon slumber would. “Is it time for another lecture, big brother?” He sneered. “Knowing what is right for me, telling me how to feel? Because Gilbert always knew everything I had felt all these years, didn’t he? About us?”

Guilt wormed its way into Gilbert’s grip, making him loosen his hold. Vincent’s expression became triumphant. “You speak like a hypocrite. Defending your sweet little Ada because you think you know what’s right, eh? What did you expect? For Ada and I to wed? Breed a nest of noble rats together? Live happily ever after?” A scoff and shake of his head. “Ada pitied me, and she’s silly enough to mistake pity for love. Just as you mistake your matchmaking for good intentions. You only want to me to be happy with her so you can stop feeling so bad.”

Gilbert opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but could not find the words. His reaction should have been indignation, anger even, if the truth of those words didn’t seem to cut into his throat. All those years throughout their adolescence, Gilbert had wanted to forget. Forget their wretched childhood, the Tragedy, the lies and betrayal inflicted upon them. His own resentment at Vincent for being a Child of Misfortune. Everything wicked and cruel inside him he pushed deep into himself to the point he thought those memories had never existed at all.

Finally, he said, “Why do you always say such awful things?”

Vincent placed a cool palm on Gilbert’s chest, and Gil swore his brother felt the anxious beat of his heart through the silk.

“Ada was right about one thing.” Fingers of his other hand danced upon the folds of Gil’s cravat, trailed up along his jawline, gently weaved themselves into his black hair. Vincent leaned forward, and Gilbert felt himself become frozen in that strange hypnotic way that only Vincent could do to him. Trapped in a web of inaction, tied by the threads of Vincent’s words.

All he could see now was the gold and red and that slow, slow smile. Lips brushed against his ear.

“All I wanted was someone pure to forgive me,” he whispered. “But that’s all. So I forgive her for her misunderstanding.” A soft wetness as Vincent’s tongue traced itself along the edge of Gilbert’s earlobe. A shudder and a bright violent urge ran through him.

Denial. So many years of confusion and denial.

Vincent’s voice grew even softer. “Freeing Ada is the greatest gift I could give her. I’m not capable of lying to her anymore. But she isn’t what I want.” His face came into view again, so close that Gilbert could see his individual long eyelashes and the sheen of his lower lip. The hand that remained pressed against his chest gripped the soft silk of Gilbert’s shirt, and he resisted, pulling away from Vincent’s closeness but Vince’s hand on the back of his head tightened.

“You… you don’t want her?”

A chuckle. “Silly brother. You have no right to deny yourself anymore.”

Then, suddenly, Vincent’s hold upon his clothes and his hair broke and he stood up. For a moment, Vincent remained immobile before him, with only the dim light of the oil lamp on the end table outlining his refined features. Shadows clung to his sides, but there was an angle to his chin and a hard glint in his eyes that gave Vincent a twisted but noble bearing.

Gilbert swallowed hard but the dryness remained in his mouth. He remained on his knees before Vincent, letting his brother weaponize the accusation he had thrown earlier. Heat coursed across his cheeks, flushed down the back of his neck.

“Vince…”

Quickly, Vincent took hold of his shoulders, pushed him down. Off-balanced, Gilbert fell back onto the plush rug, his legs sprawling out from beneath him and one boot hitting of the the legs of the chaise-lounge. He scrambled backwards, his single gloved hand slipping across the carpet, but his rear hit the ground as Vincent pinned him, straddling his pelvis.

Immediately, Gilbert’s right hand went to Vincent’s waist, making to shove him aside, and his body rocked sideways, trying to gain momentum.  But Vincent had the steady foundation and Gilbert felt the heat between his brother’s thighs. His heart began pounding harder and his breath caught in his throat.

“Get off!” he snapped. He bucked again, unsuccessfully. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Vincent took his action in stride, rolling with the motion. “Pot calling the kettle black,” he said in a singsong voice. “Forgetting last night already, are we?”

“Shut up!” His fist slammed against Vincent’s side, but he took the blow and laughed at the half-hearted force.

“But you remembered our pillow talk about Ada so well.” Gilbert raised his arm again, but Vincent reached for his closed hand, gripped it in his palm, and pushed it to the floor beside his head. He pressed in, closing the space between them.

From deep inside, Gilbert knew he could halt this immediately. Call out the Raven, and in fury of black wings, end this.

He knew Vincent would never use Demios or the Dormouse against him if Gilbert chose to summon his Chain.

He knew and still….

A strangled moan escaped him as Vincent mouthed the hollow of his neck. With his free hand Vince was already unfastening the front of his cassock-like wool robe and shrugging it off his thin shoulders. “Gilbert loves his little game, hmm?” he purred between love bites. “Makes his release that much sweeter?”

“Please, we can’t keep on…”

“Keep on as we had since those rabbits left?” The coat was tossed away, as well his gloves. “I guess your bed could use some warmth this time instead of mine.”

Why did Vince bring this up now? Yes, that was true: a few days after their move to the royal estate, Gilbert started this horrible game. He had been so strong until then, but that particular night, he stumbled into Vincent’s bed. He sobbed in that helpless way Vincent had cried in Ada’s embrace until the dawn’s light broke. His brother hadn’t made a single move as they had lain together in the early morning hours, souls exhausted, or the many hours afterward.  Then, it was Gilbert who rolled onto his side to kiss him, Gilbert who begged for him; Gilbert who held Vincent down as they-

Vincent’s hands like ice, pulled at Gilbert’s cravat, yanking it like a noose as he lifted Gilbert’s head inches from the floor. Gilbert at this point was moving his hips in time with his brother’s, the hot cord of his erection straining against his trousers. He struggled to inhale and in his distraction, Vincent released the hold upon his hand to undo the clasps of his shirt.

Gilbert’s chest was pale in the dimness, his darkened nipples standing out against the color of the scar across his chest and the patchwork of disfigured tissue that webbed across the stump of his burnt-off left appendage. Gil wasn’t ashamed of the physical blows his body had taken -- each of the left behind reminders that they were made of his own free will. Just like how them moving as one, as wretched as they are, was also an act of freedom. A gift denied for so long.

Seeing those scars also reminded Gilbert of the person who made them, of the decision he fought for. A pang of memory of another blond boy and another dark-haired girl fading like shadows into the light of the Abyss.

He had promised to wait for as long as it took for them to return. For Oz and Alice. For Oz… What would he think of this sinful lust? The facade of loyal purity Oz believed him to be?

Tears made his vision swim, and Gilbert turned his head and tried to swallow his sob.  Above him, Vincent dropped his twisted grip on the cravat, letting air return to his lungs.  Immediately, the assault dropped. “Gil, too much?”

Gilbert gasped, letting his head loll before he laid it down on the carpet. He panted for air, for steady nerves, for the strength to resist the man who rubbed himself against him. “I’m… I’m sorry, I can’t...”

“Can’t?” Now it was Vincent’s turn to sound confused. “Did I do something wrong?” That question held a wounded question that Gilbert now recognized: _Am I wrong?_

Tentatively: “Is Gilbert thinking of him again?”

Yes. No. He should be. _Why did you do this to me? You always do this to me,_ Gilbert wanted to cry out, but he knew it was a lie even as it lurked in his head.

Gilbert made a small sound, almost a sigh, as Vincent cupped his cheek. “Why are we doing this?”

“Ah yes. Your rabbit boy?” The tone could be teasing if it weren’t for the neutrality that attempted to mask sadness. “Is that why you acted the way you did when you walked in? More than guilt about Ada?”

Heat. All of this heat and nowhere for it to go. Gilbert was being torn in so many directions, pushed between his two greatest loyalties and it all created this friction of needs. Between his heart and his mind. Between lust and duty.

“We. We should stop.” Gilbert made to rise, propping his arm behind him, but Vincent only squeezed his thighs around Gilbert’s waist all the harder. He could tell that his brother’s arousal remained. That flame of desire still coursed through Gil’s length as much as he resisted.

“You say that so many times but then you start again. You start us again.” Vincent lowered himself on top of Gilbert, the grinding of his hips an entrancing dance. “You say we shouldn’t, and we can’t, but Gilbert can be so weak over his foolish ideals.”

“Oz isn’t a foolish ideal!”

“I didn’t say he was. He brings out the light in you. And I bring out the rest. ” A half-smile. “But I can settle for that.” His lips took hold of Gilbert’s, cutting off any biting reply.

Soft yet firm and so warm -- Gilbert lost himself for a moment, despite trying to keep his mouth guarded. But then he felt Vincent grip him through his trousers and that touch made his mouth part in a repressed outcry. Vincent took advantage, squeezing his hand against Gilbert’s hardness while invading the sanctity of his mouth with his tongue. Gilbert let himself be overtaken, trying to drown away the image of Oz with the flesh of his kin.

Soon, Vincent worked open the front of his trousers and pushed back the underclothes to free his cock. Gilbert bucked, his soft moans vibrating in his throat as Vincent worked him with a steady grip.

“Poor, lovely one. My light one,” came the honeyed voice into his ear. “Should we go on?”

A hasty nod. Because as guilty as he felt, Gilbert didn’t want this to stop.

“Thank you.” Vincent nipped his neck again. “Thank you, thank you,” he murmured unveiling the truth behind his hooded gaze and facade of mastery. Vincent was right -- it was always Gilbert’s game to play, the power lying inside his submission.

Gilbert knew sharply why he kept on going back to his little brother. Because despite it all -- or because of it all -- Vincent was always so _grateful._

The rustle of cloth and Gilbert opened his eyes to see Vincent palming both their exposed cocks together. Skillfully, he moved them against each other, but his grip wasn’t wide enough. Still, the friction of both their members as they combined their tight heat was nearly divine.

Gilbert reached up and covered Vincent’s hand with his own. Together, they jerked each other in their slippery grip as sweat and precum mixed between their hands.

“Kiss me,” he whispered. Vincent leaned forward and Gilbert let his tongue slip in the other’s mouth until he heard Vincent’s moan inside him.

At this point, all was only sensation and motion as the two became connected in their desire. Again, Gilbert could only see the red and gold, the red and gold of his eyes and the thick wheat curtain of his hair as Vincent bowed his head and dragged his locks down his chest. Thrusts became faster, panting louder, lips and tongues exploring every part they could reach, the tightness mounting and mounting….

His eyes clenched shut as he came. Sweetness. All was sweet and lush and dark and it all flowed out, all at once and it burst onto their hands and on their chests. In the darkness his brother cried out too and they fell entangled in one another.

***

Much later, after a shared bath, while drying off before his wardrobe mirror, Gilbert came to two realizations.

The first was that Vincent’s gift to Ada was from Gilbert too. After this, there can be no freely offered gifts between them as equals, though she’d continue to be his dear friend. She’d be the light in his life, just as Oz was once and will be, when he returns. The wait wouldn’t seem overbearing while Ada remained.

And the other…

Vincent reached from behind and took the towel Gilbert had been using to dry himself, letting the damp cloth drop to the floor. His arms encircled his waist as he pressed his nude form against him. Gilbert gazed at the two of them in the floor-length mirror and curled a lock of his blond hair around his forefinger. Vincent let his head rest upon Gilbert’s malformed shoulder and gave a contented sigh.

To wait and to deny were not the same things.  Not at all.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By Vincent's wishes, Ada was told he had died in the Abyss, and Vincent admitted to Gilbert that he didn't care for her. And yet... he would rather become her ghost, her watcher, the shadow in her life.... Innocent gestures turn vicious, however, when he discovers that Ada had found a new love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features prompt 3: “A pairing that isn’t currently together where one character considers/pines over/thinks about the other and how s/he desperately wants to make him/her his/her lover (or master/servant, plaything, etc)”. In this case, Vincent -->Ada

_Three months later_

It started with a rose.

Blue-black, only grown in the gardens of the Nightray estate. Those lands were long gone now, sold off to minor nobility and the whole rose garden had been uprooted. But Vincent fostered a rose bush in the shaded corner of the Baskervilles’ private conservatory. He missed having his signature flower of old. He loved its rich smell, the way the blooms burst like bruises in his hands. How the petals became webbed and rotten so quickly, only increasing their scent as they wilted.

Vincent held that midnight flower to his nose and let the smell drift beneath his nostrils. He could barely see the rose in his hand in this darkness.

Carefully, he placed the flower on the stone bench.

He knew that Ada liked to spend her Sunday mornings reading her romance novels in this very spot.

The rose would be waiting for Ada when she woke. He smiled to himself, imagining the expression on her face, touching the drops of dew on its petals.

_One year later_

Vincent only wanted to be sure she believed Gilbert’s lie. He wanted to be sure she moved on. Ada should have a life in the sunshine without him. She had to serve as Gilbert’s light, after all.

In turn, Gilbert served as the perfect unwitting spy into Ada’s life, because he foolishly believed that Vincent should stop this masquerade of his. He’d drop hints, now and then, about Ada’s life. How she started attending lectures at the Academy to learn more about the Abyss. About how she started an orphanage down south. And then, one evening he mentioned:

“According to Ada’s last letter, Dinah’s gotten terribly ill.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“She is getting up there in years. After the spring thaw, she seems to have caught a cold that isn’t going away.”  A page turned. He was nestled in his favorite cushioned chair, his left shoulder propped against padding as he cradled a book in the wedge between the chair and his side. It always fascinated Vincent to see his brother move, and even now with a single arm, how much grace he retained in the simplest of movements.

“Lady Ada hadn’t fetched a veterinarian?”  
  
Gilbert flipped another page, feigning disinterest in Vincent’s question in such a predictable way. “The doctor said Dinah has an inflection of the lung. There aren’t many common treatments for her breed to be found in Ada’s region.”  
  
Vincent leaned on the chair’s armrest and shut the book. “But our capital’s doctors would have some, I’d wager?”

A one-armed shrug.

The next day, the post arrived at the front of Ada’s cottage home, carrying a vial of rare and expensive medicine to her front doorstep.  
  
Vincent watched from behind the overgrown front hedges as she took the package from the postman’s hands. His heart stirred seeing her hands brush across her cheeks, but he quickly dismissed the feeling. _Gilbert would be so relieved,_ he thought to himself. _I can’t wait to tell him that Ada’s stupid cat will live._

_Two years later_ _  
_

Vincent grew very familiar with the shadows of Ada’s home. It was modest, since she lacked a noble title and the Vessalius lands divided and sold off. The Vessalius Dukedom was no more, but that did not leave her destitute. Her uncle Lord Oscar and her father Lord Zai had been honored posthumously as Heroes of the Nation, and with it came a small yearly stipend from the king. Ada would live in relative comfort the rest of her days.

Vincent ran his fingers along the ivory keys of the pianoforte. He didn’t think Ada played, but one always had to have an instrument on-hand when entertaining guests.

Master Leo mocked him as a terrible pianist, but with enough practice together Vincent would muddle through well enough.

Moonlight fell across the smooth planes of the piano as Vincent took his seat before it. Long, elegant fingers brushed along the pale white keys.

Softly, a lullaby floated through the air. A simple child’s song, but one Gilbert had taught him. Vincent memorized it by heart. Ada surely would recognize the melody, since the tune had been the song her mother had hummed to her and Oz to get them to sleep.

A lantern light flickered from the top of the stairs.

“Who’s there?”  

The sound of rushing feet.

Vincent let the sheet music flutter to the floor as he made his escape.

_Four years later_

Vincent hadn’t been invited to the wedding, but he came anyway. Not that anyone would have noticed, using the method he did.

Reim had been very straightforward on the not-inviting aspect. Months before, he “scheduled a tea appointment” (that’s exactly how that paperpusher phrased it). Over smoky earl grey and lavender biscuits, Reim stated his and Sharon’s position regarding the Baskervilles.  
  
“His Majesty thinks it is wise to invite Lord Baskerville and his entourage, since the Rainsworths are relatives, and he only wants to show his best interest regarding Lady Sheryl’s Restoration policy,” he said in a straightforward manner. “But, for Lady Sharon’s sake, I’d rather not have you included.”   

Vincent arched an eyebrow. “I find it flattering that I was even considered for the guest list.” He gave Reim a bland smile. He was never close to the man, despite working together for years at Pandora. Vincent’s role in Xerxes Break’s death -- though it had been the last Glen Baskerville who killed him -- was a sore spot which never completely healed over. Break’s death could have remained a mystery or attributed toward an anonymous Chain instead of the truth. Instead, Master Leo -- he refused to take the old title of “Glen” -- offered his condolences in person to the Rainsworth noble ladies, with Vincent in attendance.  
  
Lady Sharon always had reason to despise Vincent. The animosity he and Break had between each other was one thing, but Vincent once poisoned her as part of his schemes. Forgiving an enemy of a friend was hard enough, never mind forgiving the man who attempted to murder you.  

As soon as Vincent’s name was dropped in Master Leo’s account of Break’s final stand, Lady Sharon not only brought out her fan in retaliation, but her hidden pistol as well before she threw herself towards Vincent’s throat.  
  
All in all, relations between her and Vincent remained cool after that.

“Only the most important dignitaries are prioritized,” Reim grimaced and lowered his tea cup. “Unfortunately, that includes you as Speaker for the Core.”

Vincent bit into a biscuit and rolled his eyes. Ah, what another hollow nickname bestowed upon him. No longer considered a Child of Misfortune, Master Leo appointed him Baskerville’s liaison and companion to the Core.

On his bitter days, Vincent amounted this designation as him being once again, whored out for the sake of the world, but Gilbert hated it when he thought so lowly of himself. And, unlike being a Child of Misfortune, acting as Speaker gave Vincent even more respect and awe from the people he hated most: nobility.

He swallowed. A crumb fell from his lips, and he flicked it toward Reim’s plate. The man’s stare hardened as if he had tossed his teacup at him. “Would His Majesty be insulted if I refuse the invitation, as kindly as it is being presented to me?”

“Perhaps Duke Baskerville can make some excuse why you cannot attend,” Reim reasoned. “Some urgent matter in the Abyss that cannot be left alone.”

“I’m sure I can think of several things that take precedence over your upcoming nuptials,” Vincent had replied, after which he did duck, the cookie plate narrowly missing his head.   
  
“My, my, you’re picking up some terrible habits from your fiancee,” he quipped before leaving his place at the table.

***

Despite his promise, Vincent peered down at the sprawling mass of wedding guests that filled the King’s largest ballroom. It had been a couple of years since he made his way to the King’s royal palace after the Baskerville estate had been completed, but he remembered the large multiple chandeliers and the ceiling murals of cherubs and winged chariots. He had no trouble entering through creating a portal through the Abyss, though he missed his old ways sneaking through servant passageways.

The wedding reception was in full swing. Lady Sharon and Sir Reim were the center of attention, taking their turn on the marble floors in a lively dance as a forty-piece orchestra accompanied their steps. Smells of roasted fowl and beasts mingled with the strong whiff of sweets and the freely-flowing wine.

But seeing their celebration or sneaking a taste of the royal chef’s spread were not the reasons why Vincent came.

His eyes scanned the crowds, wondering if he’d recognize her from this distance. From an inner pocket, he removed his opera glasses. Adjusting the pair against the spectacles perched on his nose -- part of a loose disguise, so he wasn’t immediately recognizable by others -- he leaned toward the railing, scanning the whirlwind of brightly adorned figures below.

Then, he spotted her, leaning by the archway doors that lead to the northern terrace. A tall and dark figure was by her side. Both of them held glasses of punch. Light glistened off of the jewels in her hair, but her gown was a simple cream affair that bared her rounded shoulders and had a generously low neckline. She had her head tilted in laughter and her hair, which was done up in a soft tower of curls, framed her kitten face perfectly.

Lady Ada. Vincent moved the viewfinder upward and smirked. There was Gilbert by her side. He must be watching for Vincent, especially since he had been the one who slipped that Ada  was attending. Last month, he had returned from a trip to the city’s best tailor with a suit of fine silk-wool in a deep blue hue that perfectly matched the highlights in his hair.

_“Gilbert looks rather dashing,” Vincent had purred upon seeing his brother adjusting his outfit before his bedroom’s full-length mirror. Gilbert glanced behind him, and Vince never tired of that happy-bashful puppy expression Gilbert wore when pleased._

_“It is, isn’t it? I was going to go with Baskerville colors, but Lady Ada insisted.”_  
  
_“So you went shopping with her?” A spike of jealousy went through him, though Vincent wasn’t sure who he was jealous of more._  
  
_“It’s been awhile since I attended to a wedding, and Ada needed a companion, so it was best if we complimented each other.”_  
  
_That had thrown him for a loop. “Lady Ada’s attending?” His voice must’ve betrayed him._

_“Of course.” That bashful look turned into a self-conscious blush. “I take it that Sir Reim didn’t mention this to you?”_

_Vincent crossed his arms. “He mentioned my absence being Lady Sharon’s preference, but I can see he was killing two birds with one stone.”_ _  
_

_Vincent’s “gift to Ada” was an open secret among the survivors who emerged from the Abyss. Reim and Sharon had agreed to keep Vincent’s existence a secret from Ada a bit too whole-heartedly. Now Vincent was becoming even more annoyed with the couple-to-be._

_Gilbert rubbed the back of his neck.”Y’know,” he began, “though I’ll be Ada’s companion for the wedding, I could take this opportunity to mention-”_  
  
_“Don’t.” Vincent strode across the room and clasped his hand over Gil’s mouth. “Don’t even suggest this, brother.”_  
  
_Gilbert’s expression grew gentle. Pitying. He removed Vincent’s palm and said, “I only want you and her to find closure.”_  
  
_“Closure?” he scoffed. “For what? A simple dalliance of a few months? If anyone needs anything closed, it’s your big mouth.” Then, looking to distract from the topic, he snuggled against him. “Or does Gil want some parts opened for him instead?”_

_But he didn’t take the bait. “Ada still mentions you after four years. She attends the public lectures about the Abyss. It’s no surprise she keeps hoping-”_

_“Ada this, Ada that…” Vincent buried his nose in the crook of Gilbert’s neck and inhaled. Gunsmoke and musk and cigarettes. “Aren’t you happy with me?”_

_“Certainly.”_  
_  
“And I’m happy with you.” A flick of his tongue against Gil’s Adam’s apple. “I don’t need anyone else.”_

_“Even so,” Gilbert’s voice became a bit strained. His hand touched Vincent’s chin and he looked at him. “It’s not just in her head. Ada swears she sees you sometimes. Laughs it off. Says your ghost is haunting her.” Gilbert pressed his forehead against his little brother’s. “I love you both very much, Vince.  Don’t haunt her anymore.”_

Haunting Ada, what a preposterous notion! He was only watching over her, like a kindly spirit would. She must’ve appreciated the sense of his presence in her life, even if fate did not allow them to be together. Vincent lowered his opera glasses and frowned. Since he refused to speak with Ada, Gilbert harbored such foolish notions about them, and Vincent didn’t want to employ anyone else to handle this nonsense, a personal spying mission was the best way for Vincent to discover the truth.  
  
He adjusted a thought in his head and moved his fingers in a magical gesture. A slip of air opened before him. Baskervilles had the sole ability of moving through the Abyss unaffected by its chaotic forces, but only Baskervilles with red eyes had the ability to manipulate the Abyss like this. He entered the portal and emerged once again on the northern terrace, out of view from Gilbert and Ada.

Up close, Vincent saw how well the two of them matched. Ada wore dark blue flowers in her hair to match Gil’s suit, and the jacket cuffs and waistcoat of Gilbert’s outfit was threaded with cream embroidery.  He wasn’t used to other people coordinating sartorial choices with _his brother_ . And why did these colors flatter Ada _so much_?

The opera glasses in his hand bit into the flesh of his palm, before he shoved them in his pocket again.

Even worse, the story the two were tittering over brought an even worse angle to the situation.

“He spent half an hour trying to coax Dinah down until he decides to climb the tree. But once he got up there, Dinah hopped right down, and the poor man couldn’t figure out how to descend himself!” Ada wiped the tears from her eyes. “Raoul felt terrible about being the cause of her fright, but didn’t realize how more frightened he was of heights!”   

Gilbert chuckled with her, shaking his head. “Raoul’s the brightest student at lectures, but gods forbid he actually had two bits of real sense in his head. How’d he get down?”  
  
“I had to fetch a ladder from the neighbors, poor thing! He was shaking the rest of the evening.”

_Who. Is. Raoul?_

Vincent’s teeth set on edge as the two people he desired most went on and on swapping stories about this buffoon. A commoner with an interest in gardening and the occult (“Raoul has all these ideas about herbal magic and modern medicine,” Ada said).  The absent-minded professor coordinating classes with the Baskervilles (Gilbert mused, “So much was lost after the Tragedy, and I’m glad that the Restoration policy is encouraging everyone to learn more.”) A complete spendthrift who had no taste (“I asked him when’s the last time he wore that vest and he gives me a look and says, ‘It used to be a shirt until the sleeves tore off,’” Ada giggled.)

With every new anecdote, Vincent felt his temperature rise a notch. Gilbert was such a liar, making it out that Ada was pining away in mourning for Vincent, when in reality, this was the furthest from the truth! Isn’t Ada here swooning over this Raoul fellow? This human dolt that apparently Gilbert approves of? Why would Ada even bother with any sort of closure! Vincent wasn’t haunting anyone.  
  
His hands gripped the curtain he was hiding behind. This whole affair was simply ludicrous! How dare Gilbert try and trick him like this! Vincent was going to throw that moron right out of bed for the next week -- that’ll teach his brother to indulge in such fantasies….

“More punch, Lady Ada?”  
  
“Just a touch.” Gilbert took both glasses by their stems and left her alone. Ada had a handkerchief out and touched at her cheeks and the front of her neck to wipe a bit of perspiration away. Even by the open garden doors, Vincent could feel the waves of heat from the packed ballroom.

As she moved her arm, a glint caught his eye. A gold and blue cross graces her neck, the sigil of the Nightray House. His heart skipped a beat. It was politically frowned upon to uphold banners of any of the disbanded Dukedoms; not even Gil kept any of the old family crests for public display. But wearing the Nightray sigil at the King’s Palace during the wedding of one of his family members? If Ada retained her noble status, that would’ve screamed courtly suicide. But he knew that she wasn’t wearing this out of political defiance.

That was the necklace he gave her, years ago.

Ada lowered her handkerchief and tucked it in her reticule. Her fingers lingered on the emblem and a small smile graced her features.

Vincent forgotten how much he missed that wistful smile of hers. He wanted to lock up that smile of hers and keep it for himself.

At that moment, she lifted her head and for a split moment, their eyes met.

“Here you go, my dear.” Gilbert returned. She turned her head away. Vincent whirled back behind the curtain, cursing himself at his stupidity. 

Ada took the glass and a long drink. “Gilbert,” she said, “I know we discussed this before, but Raoul wanted me to at least broach this subject again-”

“Absolutely not.” Gilbert’s voice stood firm. “Duke Baskerville would never allow it.”  
  
“Raoul is dying to see the Abyss himself, but even if it were only a short trip with you and me instead-”

“It’s dangerous.”  
  
“Yet the Abyss has grown more stable, correct? Ever since Lord Leo took over.” She raised her head and, though she had her back turned to the curtains, Vincent could imagine that determined look in her cute face. “You said that someone helps control the Core now? The Speaker?”  
  
Gilbert coughed. “Y-yes. A very capable person.”  
  
“Even if I couldn’t enter the Abyss, what if I talk with this Speaker? Would they be able to ask the Core-?”

“Please don’t bring this up again.” Gilbert placed his glass on a small side table and took her hand in his. “Believe me, I have more motivation than anyone else alive to find my brother. But I know that can never be.”  
  
“It could, though!” Her brow furrowed. “You and Vincent escaped the Abyss during the Tragedy, didn’t you? Vincent was a red-eyed child, wasn’t he? Doesn’t that grant certain Baskervilles some sort of extra special ability?”  
  
“I think you’ve had enough.” Gilbert passed her glass off to a passing waiter.  “Come now, let’s join the dance floor.”  
  
“I will, if you tell me one thing,” Ada gripped his arm. “There were so many silly notions I had about the Abyss, before I learned better. I don’t want to be ignorant anymore.”  
  
“I know.” Gilbert did what Vincent would have done, if he could: he kissed Ada on the brow and stroked her cheek, and (could he have known?) he glanced toward the curtains by the open terrace doors. “I wish I could do better by you, Ada, for myself and for Vincent’s memory.”

He heard enough. Vincent bowed his head, made a fierce jab in the air, and vanished once more.

***

Vincent wanted Ada to be happy. Wasn’t that why he had done so many small gestures of kindness since his false death? To comfort her as a benevolent guardian spirit would?

Ada had been his savior. Her forgiveness had freed him in a way no one else could have done. Acting as hers from beyond was the most fitting for Vincent.

So, it was only in her best interest that he check on this Raoul fellow. He had to be worthy of sweet Ada.

Investigations into his background and character proved everything Vincent suspected: that Raoul Dupris was an intelligent, sincere, warm-hearted fool. Looking down at the dossier he had created on this man made Vincent want to retch. People said he was so cheerful! So well-spoken! And he read and wrote so many scientific treatises on the Abyss! And his family roots were so humble!

But Vincent knew Ada. She was lovely and Raoul might be the type she thought she could love. But no, Vincent was sure that Raoul was not enough.

Visions of torture devices, crumbling spellbooks, cloudy crystal balls, foreign sarcophagus and rusted knives rose up from Vincent’s memory. These were the instruments that revealed Ada’s secret self. A shudder ran through Vincent, one both of revulsion and...something else.

No one else had seen that side of his darling Ada. Despite Vincent’s hatred of the occult, he knew he hated it because he deeply understood all of its ramifications and foolishness. He understood Ada contained that same element inside her. That was why she was so perfect--full of both light and dark and something else entirely unknowable.

Raoul could _never_ appreciate that.

Vincent crushed the papers beneath his hands.

***

When Raoul started staying over the residence, the incidents at Ada’s cottage became more sinister.

During prolonged stays, his overnight things would be found soiled and strewn all over the premises the next morning.

His notebooks went missing, then discovered burnt in the fireplace.

Sometimes, a figure loomed in Ada’s bedroom in the middle of the night; Raoul swore he saw something watching them sleep. Yet every time the lamplights were turned on, they saw no one.

***

“Vincent!”

Vincent yawned, his afternoon nap so rudely interrupted by his brother. He rubbed his eyes and craned his neck over the covers of his bed to see Gilbert stomp through the door and slam it shut. “I can’t believe you!”  
  
“What brother?”  
  
“Mister Raoul! Ada and the local constable found him in a tree. He had been there for almost two days and nearly died of exposure!”  
  
“He should sleep in warmer clothing then,” he stretched languidly. “If he could afford them.”  
  
Gilbert pushed Vincent back onto the pillows and kneeled on the duvet. The anger made his eyes flash yellow, much like the Raven. “Enough is enough,” he snapped. “You were haunting Ada before, but now you’re just _terrorizing_ her.”  
  
_At least she’ll keep me in her thoughts. More so than that Raoul bastard._ Vincent gave a lopsided grin. “Ada was always blind to my essential nature, dear brother. I’m no weepy blood-covered child she can love like a stray cat. I grew up to be much worse.”  
  
Gilbert covered his eyes with his hand and groaned. “Oh, you can’t even grow up properly.” His shoulders slumped. “I should go and tell her the truth. This is partly my fault for keeping this secret for so long.”  
  
“Then her backlash will fall upon you too.” Vincent rubbed a hand against his back. “Not only you, but Sharon and Reim as well, and all of the old Baskervilles. How do you think she’ll feel, knowing her dearest friends had betrayed her?”

He went rigid at the remark, broke off Vincent’s touch. Vincent expected the final roar to occur, the burst of outrage at Vincent for even saying that he’d ever hurt Ada that deeply. Or, better yet, a wordless resignation and mumbled apology that Vince was right, as always, just please don’t harm that wimpy human Raoul that much, all right? Ada was Vincent’s, and he was only protecting her from everything she should stay away from. Including himself. _Especially_ himself.  

But Gilbert did none of this.  
  
“You don’t respect Ada, do you?” Gilbert whispered, facing his brother with an indecipherable emotion in his golden eyes. “She’s the angel who’ll absolve you. She’s the girl who’ll pine for you. She’s the toy you’ll play with. No, I should’ve really listened to what you’ve been telling me. You don’t want closure. You want to tease a wound forever until it festers.”  
  
“You respect her just as much!” Vincent retorted. He grabbed for his arm. “Isn’t she your precious link to Oz?”  
  
“She’s more than that.” Gilbert rose to his feet, shook off Vincent’s hold on his sleeve. “My friends shouldn’t suffer for the sake of a selfish brat, even if that brat’s you.” He left the bedroom, but Vincent scrambled out of the covers to stop him before he left the suite. He stood in front of the double doors, gripping either side of the threshold to block his way.

“Well,” Vincent huffed, drawing out the final ace, “while you’re in the middle of confessing how terrible we’ve all been to Ada, why don’t you mention that you’re my lover too?”

A knock behind him brought the argument to a halt.

“Who goes there-?!” Vincent snapped, spinning around and jerking the double doors open.

There Ada stood, the green of her eyes hard as emeralds. Vincent gaped and behind him, Gilbert cried, “Lady Ada, let me explain-”

“No explanations from you.” Her voice was steel. She stepped into the room and pointed to the couch in the parlor. “Sit.”

They complied. Ada gripped the open doors and slammed them shut behind her. Without a backwards look, her hands found the locks and turned them. “I hate being kept in the dark.”

One step forward.

“I hate being treated like a child who knows nothing.”

Another step.

“And I _despise_ people who hurt those I love.” A third step.

Vincent had never witnessed such anger from Ada before. It seemed to roll off her in waves, causing the breath in his lungs to stifle. His mind raced for the best words, the perfect gestures, anything to stop this pressure that was exerting from Ada. But all thoughts turned blank, because he never even imaged Ada acting in such a manner. Gilbert was right: there were only a handful of ways he had imagined Ada Vessalius to be, and none of them fit this mold.

“So tell me, Mister Vincent.”

Her feet moved silently across the plush rug until she stood before the two of them. Her mouth could bear fangs, her face containing the rage of a tiger.

“What do I do when people I love act like fools? When they assume what’s best for me?”

Gilbert’s voice was broken. “I’m to blame-”  
  
“Yes. But you had to chose between me and your lover.” The word rolled off her tongue without a second thought. Startled and pale, Gilbert dropped his plea. “Vincent,” she asked him, looming ever closer. Suddenly, after so many nights dreaming of her reactions, Vincent recoiled. Something seemed to shatter in his mind. _This is Ada,_ was the stupid thought that entered his brain. _This is Ada Vessalius._

“Vincent,” she repeated, “why did you want to protect me this badly?”

“P-protect?” He suspected the worst, but not this.

“Why must you protect me?” she repeated. “When I wanted so desperately to know the truth?”

“I-I…” Vincent stared down at his lap and knew how much he looked like a petulant child in his nightgown and mussed up hair. “I don’t know what you mean, my lady.”

“I am _not_ your lady. I am my own. Speak _up_.” A hand slammed against the arm of the couch, cracking the wood. Gilbert nearly jumped out of his skin; Vincent blanched.

“You think you can use me, is that it, Mister Vincent?” Her voice remained cold, as if she had moved beyond all tears. “You think I can _entertain_ you?”  
  
Vincent hated that word. Entertainment. He and Gilbert as children, were used as entertainment. On the streets. In the circus ring. In noblemen’s bedrooms. Gilbert’s arm reached around and clutched Vincent’s shoulders, which were trembling. He tried to answer for him. “It wasn’t entertainment to him,” he said, and Vincent knew Gil thought he was lying for Vincent’s sake again.

“I didn’t ask you, Mister Gilbert, I asked him.” She bent down, grabbed Vincent’s chin. “Tell me, Mister Vincent.”

A strange noise came from the back of Vincent’s throat. Only Ada could do this to him, render him voiceless and childlike again, trapped by the force of her presence.  
  
“I… I don’t…”

“ _Louder_ .”  
  
“I don’t know!” Vincent wailed. He trembled, breaking Ada’s hold with a violent shake of his head. Immediately, Gilbert gripped him harder but Vincent pulled away from Gilbert too. No, he had to do this, he _had_ to stop running away.

“I don’t know why I do this because I can’t think properly when I think about you, Lady Ada! Everyone else is so easy to figure out, and Gilbert I know like I know my soul, but you… _you_ always confound me and I want you but am afraid of how much and I don’t know why! It’s just... it’s easier to think you’re like those bratty women I knew or those simple men but you’re none of that, Lady Ada, you’re none of that! You’re special, you’re precious, you’re unknowable to me. And...I think you if ever realize these are my thoughts… I’m much better off as your sweet memory or as your ghost, or even your demon, rather than the terrible person I am.”

He was panting by the time he finished, and the tears had dotted the front of his shirt. He was pathetic and horrible and he always knew that only had one chance at forgiveness, but now he had lost that forgiveness forever. He had fallen once more and there is no absolution for the wicked.

Silence.

Vincent sniffled.

The tension waned.  
  
He ventured a look upwards, still sniffling. Ada wasn’t angry anymore. Merely tired. The words came slowly, as if she was trying to grapple with the right ones.

“Do you want me as a person, Mister Vincent? As just me? Not your special one, your unknowable one? Just Ada?”

“I… I can’t say.”  
  
“I suspected as such.” Ada turned to Gilbert and touched his head. “You’re lucky he treats you better. At least I hope he does.” She kissed his cheek.  
  
Without another word she departed.

It would be almost twenty years until Vincent and Gilbert saw her again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'They look so young,' Ada couldn’t help but think. 'Is this what life as a Baskerville is truly like? Years to me become nothing more than their century days?'"
> 
> Twenty years later, as the snows of winter solstice begins to fall, their paths cross again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features prompt 1: “Scene from a D/S couple, whether that moment be hardcore or quiet, willing or unwilling, happy or moody, romantic/sexual or merely platonic.” This will be a slow build to the D/S, but hope you like it! XD

_Twenty Years Later_

At forty-two years old, Lady Ada Dupris had quite the reputation in the southern countryside. Wife to the esteemed Professor Raoul Dupris, and mother to three lovely children (two girls, one boy). Founder of the most respected Home for Wayward Orphans of Saint Medea, a charity organization recognized by the King himself for its deeds. Expert on the supernatural, like her husband, specializing in the history of the Abyss in ways only parallel to the Baskerville clan itself. A generous owner of an expansive cat sanctuary for aged, sickly or disabled felines.

They said that her smile was enough to light a room, that her laughter was like that of an angel. They said that she held the most celebrated salons where men and women from all classes can mingle and exchange new ideas. They said that despite the tragic death of her family and disgrace of her ancestor Jack Vessalius, she had risen to triumph over her past.

In the evenings, Lady Ada would check upon the sleeping forms of her children -- the youngest was eleven, and soon all of them would be sent to Lutwidge to continue their mother’s legacy there. She would help the cook tidy up the kitchen. She would read in the library by her husband’s side or both of them sat at opposite desks with piles of books and cups of tea between them, each writing separate treatises.  

Sometimes, she was the one to work late; other times, it would be Raoul. Either way, eventually one left to bed, followed by the other, and they sided up beside their beloved in a final cuddle before sleep.

During the months while the children were away at school, Ada and Raoul sometimes spent whole evenings alone together in bed making love. As they grew older, this happened less often.

Ada thought she was very, very happy. And she was.

Still, in the dead of night, she’d dream of darkness and midnight roses. Once in a long while she’d let old memories play across her mind and the tears came. Of Oz and Uncle Oscar. Of her parents. Of the friends she used to keep (and technically she kept in touch, though they were more like people she knew in her youth, rather than close companions). Of young love (which is so different from the mature love she had now).

Lady Ada Dupris, thinking of those people in her life who had come and gone, felt a strange introspective yearning a person feels the older they get in life.

It was hard to describe. Sensing missed opportunities, maybe. Or perhaps it was imagining a window to another universe where things had gone differently.

Over the years, while all of this happiness surrounded her, she sometimes visited an old, unkept townhouse in the middle of the capital. The place had been in Lord Oscar’s name, but she managed to retain the deed all these years.

Inside was a cellar. There were rusted cages and dank, moldering scrolls. There were the chains of iron and cobwebs and pelts of mythic beasts.

By the light of dim lanterns, Lady Ada Dupris shed her cape, her slippers, her gloves before she stepped down into the underground and brushed her hands along these ancient things. Most of them mere novelty items now, proven to be magically useless or shams. Yet while looking at these false pieces of idolatry, a wave of longing rushed over her.

Then, she’d strip down to nothing but her shift and corset. She’d find that silly oversized witch’s hat. She’d place it on her head, now streaked with a few grey hairs, and gaze upon the full-length mirror.

In her secret dungeon, Lady Ada Dupris became Miss Ada Vessalius once more.

***

Time passed but some things did not change, Ada realized upon seeing Gilbert Baskerville, her former best friend. It was a chance event. She stood in the middle of the street as the winter solstice gifts for her children were being carried to her carriage by the toymaker’s assistant, when Gilbert left the shop next door.

He wore a clean-cut morning jacket with wide lapels, a modern style, instead of his black trench coat. But an almost ludicrously worn-out black hat sat upon his rumpled curls and seeing her childhood gift to him had caught her attention.

Gilbert hadn’t noticed her. Beneath one arm, he carried a brown-paper package and quickly wove his way through the streets.  Ada told her driver to stay by her carriage and immediately slipped into the crowd after Gil.

 _Why am I doing this?_ she thought to herself. _He means nothing to me._ But even as the thought came, she knew how much of a lie that was.

Gilbert, ignorant of her pursuit, darted through passersby, his russet coat stirring with the movement. She trailed him half-a-block behind, pulling over her fur-lined hood of her cloak to shield her face from view. He stopped at small cafe, and despite the cold weather, another man sat at one of the outdoor iron-wrought tables. He wore a crimson cloak over his head, but she recognized him immediately.

Her breath froze in her lungs.

The pair embraced. Gilbert and Vincent must be assured of their social anonymity to display public affection without anyone recognizing them as brothers. Vincent waved down the waiter by the door and signaled for another place setting. Gilbert sat across from Vincent, taking his hand and stroking it affectionately.

Ada stood around the corner of a nearby building, feeling the blush creep along her cheeks. That same feeling -- anger, jealousy, hurt -- rose up from memory and Ada was suddenly twenty-two again, and betrayed.

***

Almost twenty years ago, she had decided enough was enough with Gilbert’s stonewalling. He had never been the best liar, and from his first conversation about Vincent’s death, she suspected something else happened.

At first, she completely believed Vincent was gone, but she doubted he had a clean death. The raven-haired Baskerville would’ve wanted to assuage her pain and spared the gruesome details. Or, an even more terrible thought, Vincent turned into a Chain or some other kind of Abyss monster -- she knew how unstable that realm was. If Vincent turned out to be alive, but a soulless demon, would she still love him? Those thoughts had tormented her when Gilbert turned away and said, “Please forget him. That would be for the best.”

Then the blue rose appeared three months later, and undid all of her fears.

Afterward, she tried to reveal the truth behind Gilbert’s lie. But no matter who she asked for answers, everyone kept the same story: Sharon, Reim, Lottie, Dug and even the child Lily. For every confirmation they had about Vincent’s death, a small seed of resentment grew inside her. She lived through the exact same situation with Oz’s disappearance into the Abyss: no one trusted her to know the truth. She was being shut out once more.

So, once again, now armed with better sources, Ada did her own investigation. Because of the Restoration policy, information about the Abyss was made public knowledge and the Baskervilles frequently held open lectures to inform people about the dangers of this other realm and about Chain control. Ada took them all, and there she met Raoul Dupris.

Her future husband was a mere commoner, orphaned at a young age when Chains killed his parents. Like her, he thirsted for knowledge about the Abyss, and he also had a deep love for the occult and a vast library. It was those private study sessions that soon bloomed into a new love.

But Ada never forgot Vincent and it was both out of support for herself, for Raoul, and the mysteries they wanted to solve that made her finally decide to confront Gilbert at the Baskerville manor. The clan was still a closed-off community, but she used convenient name-dropping to get past the guards and soon found herself outside of Gilbert’s suite.

There, she heard a voice she had missed for four years.  
  
_“Well, while you’re in the middle of confessing how terrible we’ve all been to Ada, why don’t you mention that you’re my lover too?”_

Her fist slammed against the wooden doors.

They opened immediately and there was Vincent’s angry face: “Who goes there-?!”

He looked exactly the same as she saw him last; those brilliant eyes, that flowing hair, even his clothes hadn’t changed. And then, seeing Gil over Vincent’s shoulder, her heart dropped.

Vincent and Gilbert, lovers?

Her own vehement rage took over. Vincent lied about his death. All of her friends kept her in the dark. Gilbert choose Vincent’s love over hers. All her friends chose Gilbert and Vincent’s relationship over hers. Everyone was disgusting and cruel.

_They almost got Raoul killed._

They almost got Raoul killed and if Raoul had died, it was for no reason except they thought they knew better.

_Ada was not a child._

When she stormed out of the manor, the fury running so hot her eyes boiled over in tears, she thought she never wanted to see those patronizing, selfish brothers ever again.

Until now.  
  
***

She watched them for half an hour as the snow began to fall. The cold didn’t seem to affect the brothers as they huddled close over steaming cups of hot chocolate. Vincent had an unseemly high pile of whipped cream on his and after the first sip, a glob got on his nose. Gilbert swiped it away and let his brother lick it from his fingers. They chatted, they laughed, they gave each other little touches and acted very much like sweethearts do.

 _They look so young,_ Ada couldn’t help but think. _Is this what life as a Baskerville is truly like? Years to me become nothing more than their century days?_

Again, that feeling of regret sank into her chest, but instantly she chased it away. No, she had lived a full life since she left them, accomplished many things, and she loved her husband and her children dearly.

The echo of their laughter floated to her and she bit her lower lip.

Incest, however, wasn’t as much of a shock. Years and distance had dulled her sense of disapproval, which hadn’t been as great as she expected. Ada believed in the power of love more than anything else, and she knew Gilbert and Vincent deeply cared for each other.

During the Head Hunter episode, she had recalled that melancholy expression that crossed Vincent’s face whenever he spoke about Gilbert not caring about whatever happened to him (though later on, she realized his grief had been twofold as the actual murderer). Gilbert, too, was never shy about complaining about how heedless his brother acted back then, and if only he was a better older sibling, he would’ve done something to knock some sense into Vincent.

Their feelings were more than familial, but she wondered exactly when they turned romantic. Or if they always had been, but both were in denial for so long.

Her hands wrapped tighter inside their fur muffler. They were less than twenty meters away. She should speak to them now. She deserved answers.

Instead, she turned around and prayed her driver hadn’t alerted anyone about her wandering off.

***

Ada’s winter solstice shopping wasn’t the only reason why she was in the capital. Arriving at a modest hotel, she went up to her room and saw her husband removing his cravat and waistcoat.

“Darling!” she exclaimed, a rush of passion running through her. Seeing Gilbert and Vincent’s affection only reminded her of the source of her own. She bounded into the room, throwing her outerwear to the ground. “I missed you!”

Raoul laughed as she lunged for him, spinning her before the fireplace and planting a kiss on her lips. Ada clung to him, deepening their kiss. When they finally broke off, he joked, “I was only gone four hours, not four months.”  
  
“I know, but I couldn’t help but think of you so much today.”

The servants had already brought up their meal, and over a bottle of vintage red, roasted chicken, sauteed greens, and fresh bread, they chatted about their days. Raoul had a new report about some joint-research he was conducting about fluctuations in the Abyss under the advisement of Duke Baskerville and was presenting his findings to the Academy. Ada talked about the books and contraptions she had bought for the children’s gifts, and a lovely new tea shop she had discovered on her own. “Murray was so worried about where I had gone to,” she said, relating how her driver reacted when she finally returned to the carriage. “But tomorrow, I’ll show you the place; it is so worth our time.”

 _How easy it is to lie about such things,_ she thought as she looked upon her clueless husband. Raoul was not strikingly handsome, but his round face and warm brown eyes gave him an affectionate boyish look. Even as he neared forty, very few people would be able to guess his age if it weren’t for the silver streaks along his temples.

“You always have the best taste,” her husband replied. “I promised Professor Roland I’d met him for lunch, but after I can join you for a cup.”

***

After the meal, Ada excused herself for a bath. Mostly, she wanted some time alone to think about the day’s events she didn’t tell Raoul about.

In the hotel room’s generous bath, she turned the taps above the claw-footed tub and slowly removed her clothing. Pouring in some of the scented oils and bath soap, she smiled to herself as the bubbles began to form.

Turning around, she gazed at herself in the mirror. She was well approaching middle-age, but her body hadn’t suffered from it. Her bosom, which had always been large, was still firm and even a little more rounded from breast-feeding three children. Her waist had thickened, though, and silvery stretch marks ran along her stomach. She touched them one by one and gave a little frown. She examined her butt, which glowed rosy as steam filled the room. Raoul always loved how she looked from behind.

She leaned forward and stared at her face. The first stages of beauty had faded into a mature loveliness, but Ada retained her pert mouth, button nose, and large green eyes that made everyone comment on her “kittenish” face. Her skin was always good and remained unscarred by blemishes or sun freckles. Her hair, draped down over her breasts, had gotten a bit thinner over the years and a little grey, but mostly shone a rich color like pooling sunlight.

Her hands traced every part of her. She was always confident in her body, but as she cupped her chest with both hands, she wondered: how does Vincent look now, beneath his clothes?

 _What, why does that matter?_ She gave a little huff, the exhalation puffing up her fringe of hair and she slipped into the water.

The oiled bath was almost too hot to bear and enveloped her like a glove. She played with the bubbles a bit, giggling to herself as she coated her arms and neck in suds and then relaxed in deeper, feeling the porcelain tub slide against her back.

She sighed deeply. Though the waters, her skin glowed. She stroked down her thighs, then up again to coddle her tummy and its cute little paunch that formed when she sat. Her fingers stroked her breasts again and she let her eyelids lower.

Gilbert and Vincent hadn’t aged a day. How was that like, to have near-immortal youth? But Baskervilles did age, eventually: she saw Lily Baskerville give the last Abyss lecture and she had grown from a child to a young woman.

She remembered how Gilbert aged too, even before he knew his Baskerville roots. She remembered being fifteen and seeing her older brother’s former servant for the first time at a Nightray ball. How he had filled out since he had left the Vessalius household! How tall he was, and how handsome-! Ada was so overwhelmed by her first crush that she did what any silly girl would do: she bought him a hat the very next day and claimed it was a gift between friends (but hoped he got the deeper message).

After all these years, even after she broke off their friendship and lost touch with him, Gilbert still cherished that hat….

Thinking about Gilbert, her mind wandered over to his brother. Gilbert had been lanky, but eventually his muscles filled out with his Pandora training. Vincent, on the other hand, always had a delicate disposition, and his gentle, sad eyes and distant voice highlighted that fragility. But there was also a hidden fire to him, one that made those gold and ruby eyes twinkle deviously. Like they had when they were alone in the box seats of the opera house, and his hands ghosted up along her waist….

Her fingers slowly rubbed against her nipples in the heat of the memory. Vincent kissing down her neck, along her decolletage. Whispering how much he wanted to know her more, to know her completely. Ada grabbed her breasts, fondled herself more roughly. If he could see her now, would he be satisfied? Oh, how she wished he would! Seeing that slow smile of his, filled with anticipation. He’d kiss her breasts, press his lips upon her nipples to suck on the pert buds. Those hands, with the elegantly-jointed fingers, would squeeze and stroke and move lower across her soft belly.

How would those hands feel rubbing up her thighs? How would they feel squeezing the round cheeks of her rear?

Ada let her head fall back against the rim of the tub. Tingling warmth bloomed between her legs as she moved one hand down to part the folds of herself.   

Vincent would chuckle in that alluring way of his.

_“Why Miss Ada, don’t tell me you’re blushing….”_

_“Mister Vincent, I can’t help it. This isn’t proper, is it?”_

_A playful scoff as Vincent parted her thighs. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips.  “You’ve never thought of me as proper for years, not since you realized I like to fuck my brother.”_ _  
_

_“Vincent!” A hand went to her mouth. “I’m not like that!”_

_“Oh Ada, only I know what you’re really like.” His fingers (her fingers) started moving against her clit. “You showed me your secret self, didn’t you?”_

_“I did.” A gasp, a soft moan. “But you never showed me yours. Why not?”_

_“Because I want you all to myself.” His fingers moved faster; his voice, growing huskier. “I don’t want to share you with Gil.”_ _  
_

_“But I want you both.” His (her) fingers left her clit and slipped inside her. She bucked her hips, splashing water out of the tub as she widened the space between her knees to reach better._

_A teasing laugh. “What a shock! Pretty and prim Miss Ada Vessalius, having such dirty thoughts.”_  
  
_“Oh, don’t be such a cad.” But how it was harder to form coherent words, not with the way Vincent was moving those fingers inside her. She bit her lower lip to hold in the squeal of pleasure as a warm, radiating sensation started to bloom inside her teased pussy and branched out across her thighs, up along her stomach, down toward her toes._

_“Tell me, Miss Ada, what do you want to do to Gilbert and me?”_

_“I want you… I want you to…” Ada squeezed her eyes shut as the trembling waves began to grow and stretch inside her._

_“Tell me now, Miss Ada.”_

_“Beg,” she gasped. “I want you to beg for me.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because you need me. And I need you.”_

_Faster and faster she thrusted. Puddles formed below the tub. The waters turned chill, but she moved without noticing._

_“I do, Miss Ada, I do.” And she imagined Vincent plunging deep inside her, fingers replaced with cock; she had both hands working her pussy now, twisting and rubbing her clit and also reaching deep inside her opening. Oh gods, it would be wonderful, to have Vincent fill her up like this, fill her to the brim, and then to have Gilbert take her; no, both of them begging as she claimed them both, took them right inside her, right there where they couldn’t escape, and she have them, she’d have them, she’d--_

The orgasm rocked through her body, making her toes clench and her eyes see spots of white as the waves of pleasure rolled over her wet and heated body. Ada gave a groan, loud enough to be heard outside, but she didn’t care. The sensations moved on and on and on, rising and falling as Ada envisioned Vincent and then Gilbert, taking her and then taking each other, and she rocked with the ecstasy of her building orgasms crashing through her again and again.

Finally, in the now-cold waters, the last glowing feeling ebbed from her spent body. She blinked up at the ceiling and lifted her pruned hands from the water.

For some reason, her own indignant voice parroted her bitter memory.

 _“You think I can_ entertain _you?”_

The afterglow was cut short. No, she was a better person than that! She wouldn’t dare act upon that selfishness Vincent had, toying with him as he did her.

She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes and gave a loud sigh. Pulling herself out of the tub, she let it drain and quickly toweled herself off. Wrapping a flannel bathrobe around her, she exited the bath into the hotel bedroom where her husband was already huddled under the covers.  
  
Raoul put his book aside. “Thought you must’ve fallen down the drain,” he teased as she nestled beside him.

She kissed the tip of his nose. “I was only enjoying the comforts hot water provides on a cold evening.”  
  
“I see. While you leave me with no such comforts.” Rich food and wine made him pink in the cheeks, and a forelock of dark hair fell across his brow. _He’s adorable this way,_ she thought, letting this thought squish any guilty fantasies she had about other men.

She rolled on top of him and he chuckled at her playfulness, rewarding it with another kiss. Her hands reached for his wrists and pinned them above his head. She nipped his earlobe and rocked herself over his hips as her robe parted to reveal her bare flesh.

“Ada!” Raoul’s eyes became ever darker, the pupils widening with arousal. “My little kitten hasn’t been this feisty in a while.”

“Darling,” she purred, “You must bring out the tiger in me.”

A pause. Raoul blinked, stunned. And suddenly, he spluttered out a laugh. Soon, she was laughing too. Ada knew this was one of the many reasons why she married him.

Yet later, as they moved together in the familiar motions of lovemaking, she heard Vincent’s languid voice pleading for Miss Ada in her head right before she came.

***

Early the next morning, she sent a messenger ahead to the Baskerville manor requesting for the presence of Gilbert and the Speaker for the Core, concerning a very important matter.

Ada wore her best visiting down she had packed: an inky blue highlighted with lines of velvety purple and black. She also brought along her parasol, although the overcast sky didn’t warrant for one.

After the house butler announced her in the front foyer, she was led down an achingly familiar maze of dark wood-paneled hallways, which ended at those same double doors to that same suite. For the second time in two days, Ada became much younger at heart.  

This time, however, the doors opened for her.

“Lady Dupris. Welcome.”

Up close, Gilbert was even more of a nostalgic memory come to life than before. His midnight-black hair was tied in a matching ribbon, leaving curling tendrils framed his face. His eyes, clear as topaz, retained that soft almond curve, but, unlike his younger days, he had no lines or bags from stress and lack of sleep. He was dressed somberly in a charcoal suit today, but his shirt was a soft creamy ivory and his polished cufflinks flashed at his wrists.

For a moment, Ada was trapped in her memory, before blinking rapidly and strangely enough, feeling a giddiness rise in her chest. “Please,” she couldn’t help but say, “call me Ada.”

The words rang with significance. “It’ll be my pleasure, Ada.”  He bowed, deeply, and she entered the room.  
  
The decor had changed from last time: brighter and paler than she remembered. All of the dark cherrywood furniture was replaced with maple and oak, and the velvet drapes switched from black to soft lavender.  Her eyes scanned the room, but Vincent was nowhere to be found.

“Will the Speaker be joining us today?” she asked, taking a seat on one side of a S-curved conversation couch. Gilbert took the opposite seat to face her.

“Vincent wasn’t sure you wanted to see him,” Gilbert replied frankly. “At least that’s what he told me.”  
  
“But he’s listening in the next room, isn’t he?”

Gilbert gave a half-grin and a tip of his head toward one of the closed doors. A younger Gilbert would’ve fumbled for an excuse, and Ada smiled at his honesty.

“I also wanted to talk to you on my own behalf.”  
  
“Oh?” Perhaps to soothe any old wounds. Gilbert, the trustworthy ambassador.

He pursed his lower lip for a moment, then plunged in. “I apologize. I hid the truth from you. I made you feel left out and isolated, and I knew how much you hated those feelings when Oz had first disappeared. It was never my intention to make you feel that way again.”  
  
She didn’t expect him to get to the bulk of the subject so quickly. This was a driven Gilbert, much different from one who would’ve kicked around the hedge and stumbled over small talk for at least fifteen minutes before getting to the point. Ada sat back and tilted her head, assessing him in a new light. “I stand by those words, Gilbert. You had to make a choice and-”

“I chose badly. It was out of my shame and not just my love.” His borrow furrowed. “We live odd lives as Baskervilles. My comrades have a different perspective on mortality and have been kind to withhold judgment. I keep my identity in public to a minimum. Now, I’m lucky time had allowed society to forget who Vincent and I once were for the most part.” (Ada could think of two Lunettes in particular who would not forget).

As if suspecting her thought, Gilbert gave a rueful shake of his head. “It’s a blessing I can be with him without scandal against my house or persecution from the law. But it took years to embrace my feelings. Not only because Vincent is my brother, but because he did many terrible, awful things. Things I accepted and forgave him for, despite what others think.”

No stutters, no defensiveness, no anxious nervousness. Though Gilbert was the same physically, she suddenly recognized how he had changed too.

“My brother tricked and used people. He abused Echo, his manservant. He killed my bastard foster father, but also many far more innocent people. He lied to me, manipulated me for years. I had no reason to trust him, or let him into my life, or to love him as I do. But I did, and I tried for a long, long time to fix the damage he had done. Including the things he did to you.” He smiled grimly.

“Gilbert,” Ada said, “What he did wasn’t your fault. I was mad at you lying _for_ him, but didn’t think what _you_ did was just as bad-”

“I know. That was what made it all the worse.” He ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting toward the door over his shoulder. Ada reached out and touched his wrist. That strange wonderment over their love haunted her. They were different, they were Baskervilles, but even so, some relations were only human….

“What kind of person defends a liar, a killer?” Gilbert settled his gaze upon her. “In the Abyss, you saw his greatest guilt from his past, but at the time you didn’t know _everything_. People who knew us pitied me, because they thought I was somehow under his thrall, or they hated me for defending him.” He brought his hand to his chest. “So you see, I was being selfish by choosing to keep Vincent’s death a secret, while also trying to encourage him to find recourse with you. If you eventually accepted him, I thought that’d encourage others to accept Vince too. That’s why I am apologizing, because you had been my pawn as much as Vincent’s when he courted you.”

Ada turned away from Gilbert’s regretful expression. He added, gently, “I don’t want you to forgive me. I only want you to know the truth.”   

Minutes passed. Ada was sure that beyond these walls, Vincent too was waiting for her reply.  
  
She had no right to judge Gilbert or Vincent anymore as people who used other people, not with the lustful thoughts she had of them as of late. Time had stolen away so many old friends from her. How can she possibly stay angry or hurt over actions made so long ago they were practically committed by other people? Finally, she took his hand in hers again, squeezed it.  

“We’ve all been using each other,” she replied. “But your apology feels so empty, because I don’t know you now, Gilbert. You’ve become a stranger to me.”

She didn’t think the words would hurt coming out as much as they did. By the light that seemed to vanish from Gilbert’s face, they hurt him too. “Yet you know what’s the best part about meeting strangers?”

“What?”

“You have a chance at knowing them better.” Her hand around Gilbert’s turned into a handshake. “Hello. My name is Ada. And you are?”  
  
“I’m...I’m Gilbert.” Gilbert blinked rapidly, as she pumped his arm up and down. Slowly, realization dawned and like the sun, a smile broke out upon his face. He chuckled and met her force with his. “Just Gilbert. Truly, a pleasure to meet you.” Joy and relief shone through his laughter. When it subsided, wistfulness entered his voice. “This is exactly what Oz would’ve done.”  
  
Ada gave a casual shrug and beamed at him. All of the pain and distance seemed to melt away in an instant, and she had her best friend back. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

Behind Gilbert, one of the doors creaked open. Vincent bowed a little sheepishly. “Hello there. Brother, care to introduce me to your new friend?”

***

The Vincent who stood in the doorway was different than her fantasy seducer. His blond locks, once long and curling, barely reached his chin in soft waves, and his customary red earrings were replaced with somber silver studs. His cassock was exchanged for a trim suit. Yet he retained his fey-like grace as he approached their seats.

Ada kept her reaction to herself as Gilbert said playfully, “Vince, I’d like you to meet Ada.”

“I’m honored,” he said. Taking her hand, he kissed the back of it and a small spark raced up along that arm and down to her belly. “Your reputation precedes you, Lady Ada.”

Her heart, which had re-opened in ways it hadn’t for these twenty years, grew heavy in her chest as Ada stayed for lunch. She noticed how much Vincent kept glancing at her when she chatted about her current affairs, as if he had expected her to vanish between sentences. An odd shyness overcame him, which was surprising, considering how much she knew how suave he had been. She tried to pin down the root of that shyness. Was it loneliness, that same isolation which first drew her to him as a young debutante?

Near the end of the meal, as Gilbert went to ring for the servants to clear the plates, Ada asked Vincent, ”Mind if we speak alone?”

The two brothers shared a glance, and Gilbert stopped his hand mid-pull. “I’ll take these down to the kitchen myself,” he said, picking up the tray and holding it to his chest for balance. He gave Ada a meaningful look. “I’ll be in the library.”

Vincent walked him out to open the parlor door for him. Ada watched his back as he pressed his fingers against the paneling. She picked at the lacing of her gloves as a pregnant silence entered the room. Finally, turning around quickly, Vincent had a smile on his face: one she recognized as his mask. “So, Lady Ada, what do you have to say?”

She sat forward, tapped the spot beside her on the couch. Vincent slid over, but didn’t touch where her skirts fell upon the cushions. “Do _you_ have anything to say?”

At her directness, the mask crumbled. “I’m sorry,” he blurbed out. “I mean, I apologize. I… I echo Gil’s sentiment that you have no obligation towards me-”

“I know.”  
  
Vincent folded his hands in his lap. “Are we strangers then? Or friends?”  
  
“I want to be friends.”  Her neck grew suddenly warm. Why had forgiving Gilbert, even if those words remained unspoken, been so simple? Why did she let this new Vincent reduce her to her girlish self?  

“I feel so old,” she said unexpectedly. A hand went to her mouth at the words and she blushed. “This is silly, Vincent, but when I see you and Gilbert, I think you had been right to lie to me. This is quite childish to say, but I feel… I feel…”

“Regret?”

They exchanged expressions: hers, vulnerable, his, hesitant.

“But I don’t regret! I don’t regret anything that had happened…” She shook her head.

“Do you forgive me?”

The answer came immediately. “I can’t.”

Vincent rose, the cool mask on once more. He bowed, deeply, and offered his hand to her. “Thank you for seeking out my company today, Lady Ada. Please do feel welcome to see Gilbert, but do not feel beholden to me.”

“Vincent-”  
  
“Let me escort you out, my lady.” He reached for her arm.

“No.” Her command rang out into the room. “You will not touch me, Mister Vincent.”

He stiffened and straightened his posture. He swallowed hard and his eyes were like jewels in their hardness. “That was presumptuous. Forgive me.”

“I will not.” Ada didn’t know where this idea had come from, but she, too, sat up and put on a stern face.  “Not until you show me your secret self.”

“My secret self?” He blinked.

“Yes. Gilbert said I never knew the real you, only your greatest guilt. And he’s right. But you are more than a guilty man, Mister Vincent. You are more than lies and hurt and manipulation. So show me that.”

“How?”

“Show me the truth.”

Unlike her suave fictional Vincent, he did not take the hint. “I… I can’t lie to you anymore,” he confessed. “I don’t know how to.”

“Then show me who you are.” The rush of authority buoyed her words. She’d make him understand. “Remove your clothes.”

“What?”

“Are you questioning me, Mister Vincent?” Ada took her parasol that had leaned against the couch and held it like a cane. She tapped the tip against the floor.

His eyes widened. She rapped her parasol harder. “Are you willing to show me or not?”

“Lady…”

“You shall call me Miss Ada.”

“Miss Ada…” He lifted his hands to his collar as a slow understanding graced his features. For a moment, she saw nothing but pure fear and her gut clenched.

Vincent’s hands went to his collar and slowly undid his cravat. The silk flopped out from its tucked position in his tight waistcoat. He twisted the material around his fingers and pulled with a sharp yank. Then, the cravat fluttered to the floor.

There was no sense of seduction or theatricality involved, but Vincent moved slowly, as if too worried that he was going to commit a mistake. His jacket came off in smooth motions, one shoulder pushing back, then the other. Hands fumbled at his waistcoat buttons, at the cufflinks at his wrists. She watched his trembling breath in his chest as he pulled his shirt down his shoulders, exposing the cream of his skin. Bright patches of covered his neck and chest out of embarrassment.

For a moment, he went rigid in this half-dressed state, refusing to meet her eyes. One look and she saw the tent at the front of his trousers, even as he fidgeted before her.

She ran her tongue across her lips. “Why did you stop?”

“Miss-”

Her parasol rapped the floor again. “Continue.”

Vincent swallowed hard again, and his expression fell between mortification and lust. He then went for his belt, slipped his fingers beneath the band of his trousers. A hesitant pull and the fine wool came down, catching a bit at his crotch. He stepped to the side out of the pool of clothing and faced her again, red and flustered in his drawers.

Then, staring at her beneath lowered lids, he tucked one hand, then the other, beneath the silk drawers and removed them. He went to cup himself, before she snapped, “Hands by your sides.”

He obeyed.

With a undisguised hunger, she took him in. All of that glowing skin, unmarred and fresh from youth. All lithe muscle and remarkably hairless except in the places that proved his manhood. His blush made him appear like a bride on her wedding night, and a line of sweat moved down one side of his neck.  He was panting by this time, fully-erect, but that fragile disposition never left his face. Ada could crush him, destroy him in a single word or glance, and Vincent had no choice but to suffer it.

Ada stood up, took the few steps which held them apart. Raising a single, gloved finger, she pressed it against his cheek, the first time she went to touch him in twenty years. Vincent gasped, and she saw his cock twitch below.  
  
Delicately, carefully, she lowered her finger. Down across his cheekbone, tracing the column of his neck, outlining the delicate bones of his collar, across that smooth chest and the softly defined abs. Down toward the curling nestle of hair. Down into the thick of it, tracing the vein along his cock. She stopped right at the base of his head, now intensely red and dripping. The whole time, Vincent made not a sound, but when her touch ended there, he gave a tiny whimper.

“You can’t lie to me?”

A tight nod.  
  
“Good.”

She gripped his length in her hand. A dribble of precum fell into her hot palm. Her hold locked around him, bringing no release. She yanked at his cock, hard, so hard that tears sprung in his eyes and he trembled and opened his mouth to scream-

Another yank to quiet him and she covered his mouth to muffle the sound. He screamed into her closed hand, burying his face into her shoulder, but keeping his shaking hands at his sides. A single sob escaped him and his pain made her feel strangely elated.

She let go of his cock and he remained there, shaking against her. She rubbed soothing circles between the shoulder blades. She couldn’t deny the wet, slippery heat between her legs and a dark and forbidden need to let this game go on.  “Tell me how you feel.”

“I like this,” he whispered hoarsely into her shoulder. “Very much.”

She pulled him away from her and through his tear-streaked face, she saw him. Truly saw him. Through the pain and the fear was a deep well of trust. A trust he presented to her, as delicate as a rose in bloom.

“Which is your bedroom?”

A gesture to the left-hand door.

Her mind burned intensely with how much she wanted to see more of this, more of Vincent like this, but instead, she whispered, “Get dressed and fetch your brother. Tell Gilbert I left. Then I want you to bring Gil to _his_ bedroom and fuck him senseless. I won’t leave your bedroom until I hear him scream your name.”

He nodded, wordlessly. Ada never knew this side of Vincent before, the one who instantly followed her direction as he quickly dressed and left the room. Was this who he truly was, or was he this way only for her?  Either option left her feeling even more heated than ever.

She took her things and shut herself in Vincent’s chambers. The room was bright, curtains open, and she pulled them shut. In the gloom, she made out his things and the large canopy bed. The sheets were rumpled. His scent mingled with the cologne she had smelled on him earlier, and with his sweat.

A few minutes later came the clomp of boots and shutting doors. She went over and pressed her ear to the door to hear Gilbert and Vincent’s muffled conversation.

“But what did you talk about-?”

“Only good things, Gil…” His voice trailed off and there was further shuffling in the room. Her heart thumped in time with the blood rushing to her ears. Were they kissing now? She imagined Vincent, still aroused from his encounter with her, dragging Gilbert into the room. Nearly ripping off his clothes in his passion. Kicking open Gil’s bedroom door, pushing him through, as Gil spluttered out confused questions over what had happened-

_Thud!_

She gasped.

Silence.

A hot coil of need ached between her legs. She pressed her thighs together, placed her parasol against that wanton spot below her gown. She rubbed herself against its hardness, biting her lower lip as she strained to hear more. Nothing. Oh gods, she realized, she couldn’t stay any longer, she promised Vincent that she’d go, and-

But could she go? Were they in Gil’s bedroom yet? What if she emerged to see them, tangled limbs and all…

Her own needs billowed inside her. What if she _did_ see them, and what if…

A chime rang in the air. She nearly jumped and whirled about. The clock on the mantlepiece rang out the hour.

The time, getting late. She was… she was supposed to meet Raoul at the tea shop….

Instantly, the horror stabbed through her chest. What was she doing? What was she thinking-?  What-?

Slowly, a moan filled the air, long and low.

“...Vincent…”

She turned the door handle and plunged through.

The parlor room was empty.

She stared at the opposite door, letting her imagination run wild at what was going on the other side.

Then, she lifted the hems of her skirts and bolted from the room, down the hallways and didn’t stop until she was outside the manor, waiting for her driver to pull up. Her heart raced like foxes, her hands were damp through their gloves, and her nether regions even damper.  In the safety of the carriage, she crossed her legs and pressed the heels of her palms into her lap.

Ada was a good woman. She was a happy woman. She had no regrets.  
  
Then why did the thrill of the past half-hour rocked her to her very core? Why did she feel more alive then than she had in over two decades?

She caught her reflection in the window. Her fingers brushed against the cold glass.

“Hello Miss Ada,” she murmured.

It was then Ada knew there was more to life than mere love or hate or forgiveness or happiness. There was desire, dangerous and dark and unruly. That was what she wanted, more than anything else in the world. A desire that made her feel so wonderfully, achingly young once more.  
  
She’ll see both brothers again, she vowed. They had so much time to make up for, after all.


End file.
